


Breathe Deep

by Sorin



Series: Fever Dreams [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, don't mind me while I drown in my feels, listen it's just really warm and soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: He stands at his desk in the Umbilicus, looking at the drawer that holds the journal in question.  He’s not opened this drawer since he sealed it… how many years ago?  Ninety?  Ninety-five?  The journal, of course, he’d written back then… but…





	Breathe Deep

**Author's Note:**

> The third and final (?) installment of this little mini-series that my fever-addled brain has come up with for the lot of you to enjoy-- thank you so much for all your kind words and kudos, for reading and for enjoying <3 it means the very world to me!
> 
> I had fun with this one, point of view-wise... but it's the first time I've tried it, so, fingers crossed as ever. :D;;;

He shouldn’t, he tells himself. Too much time has gone by, too much hurt, too much _distance,_ for him to even _think_ these thoughts about you. The years have dulled his memory of you, had stolen your voice and the exact shade of your eyes until he saw you once more, had forced him to rely on his own written accounts of what had transpired while you went with him through the Tower back then- accounts which he kept not only locked, but warded.

_Nobody_ needs to see _those_ memoires except for _him._

He stands at his desk in the Umbilicus, looking at the drawer that holds the journal in question. He’s not opened this drawer since he sealed it… how many years ago? Ninety? Ninety-five? The journal, of course, he’d written back then… but…

… he _shouldn’t,_ and he knows this.

A slow, quivering breath is drawn between slightly parted lips as he reaches out and lightly touches the drawer’s handle with crystalline fingers. _He_ has changed, _you_ have changed- though he has arguably changed more, he thinks. The crystal has been at once a blessing and a curse, extending his life and allowing him to reach you, to _save_ you- or at least to try to- and yet putting such a high wall between him and everyone else… you included, in the end. Still, he can’t get the way you’d looked at him out of his mind, when he’d limped up to you and the other Scions after Emet-Selch was defeated- the way you’d said his name, the way you’d smiled at him.

Ah, and he’d promptly burst into tears, hadn’t he. His smile becomes wry… what a showing from a man who had stood as a beacon of hope in this dying world, who’d been unflappable, _untouchable,_ until you had called him _G’raha Tia-_ and from the confines of his mind, the deepest reaches of his heart, that young man had stirred and begun to push his way forward once more. The Crystal Exarch had been _just fine, thank you very much,_ until you’d cried _his_ name, the name he hadn’t heard anyone speak in a _century._

It is strange, when he thinks on it- strange, and unwelcome- that his name has had such an impact on him. He knows very well who he is as the Exarch, strong and steady, determined and somehow _above…_ and yet that platform has become _so_ perilous, especially when you’re around. He’s not been hiding from you, per se, but, well… he’s been hard to reach lately, having taken himself off into the furthest reaches of the Tower to try and _forget._

How ironic. Once, he’d struggled to remember- now, he wants nothing more than to forget, because surely… surely _you_ have, surely _you_ don’t feel that way about him now.

Of course, the place he might once have gone to seek solace and gaze at the stars he cannot go- not without risking you finding him, and he doesn’t know what to say to you. He’d taken himself up to the roof of the Tower , and no sooner had he set eyes on the throne but he’d been overwhelmed with such a dizzying rush of emotion and _sensation_ that he’d swiftly turned and run the way he came as though the Tower itself were on fire.

Funny, that. It certainly felt like _he_ was.

Slowly, slowly, his fingertips draw along the length of the handle. His breath comes a little faster, his heart beats a little harder- gods, but how can he _manage_ this? What can he do? How is it that he is so _cursedly_ mortal and yet immortal all at once? His lips press together, then part again on a sigh as he dispels the ward and pulls the drawer open all in one motion. He can do nothing, he thinks. He is mortal because he chooses to be, because he had been unable to bring himself to sacrifice the young man he’d been and bury him beneath _necessity._ He is mortal because, Azeyma help him, _he loves you _and _he can’t stop._

The journal is nondescript, a simple leather-bound tome that is a little battered and worn around the edges. He is careful with it as he lifts it out of the drawer, running his fingertips now over the leather before slowly opening it. Unlike the meticulous records he’d kept during the expedition, this had only ever been for his eyes, and it is a record of his own thoughts and feelings on everything that had happened.

Including you. _Especially_ you.

Though the specific details of what had transpired between the two of you had faded around the edges and become difficult to recall, the fact that those events _had_ transpired had never left his mind- nor had it ever come close. He _remembers_ the way you’d shoved him against a runic pillar that he’d been explaining to you, that you’d knelt for him and done things to him that nobody else had ever dared… and he remembers following you to the top of the Tower, and there wondering if he’d gone quite mad as you cried his name and came for him, _because_ of him.

His ears quiver, and the tip of his tail flicks back and forth. He remembers your touch on both.

Slowly opening the journal, the sight of his handwriting fills him with an odd sort of longing. It had more or less stayed the same over the years, but this had not been penned by _the Crystal Exarch_\- rather by G’raha Tia, young and full of fire, the future shining bright in his eyes as he quite happily fell ears over tail in love with you. It was not a passing fancy, not an affair that burned bright and hot and then died out… it was strong, _steady,_ and indeed- it’s lasted all this time. He had long known that he had no real preference for the type of body someone was in; rather, it was their mind, their soul which attracted him, and yours had drawn him like a moth to the flame almost immediately. You were quiet, never saying much- at least not out loud- but speaking volumes with your eyes, your hands, your—

_Twelve help me._

Slowly, his ears lift from where they’d pinned to his skull, and he takes a slow breath. In, out, a reminder of his humanity- a temporary distraction from the sudden and _very_ real need between his legs. He groans faintly, drops his chin to his chest and closes his eyes, then slowly lifts his left hand to press against himself through the thick robes he wears. He remembers pressing _your_ hand against him back then, feeling your warmth keenly through trousers and smalls alike, remembers how he’d hardened _painfully_ when you’d unbuckled his belt. Of all the people whose hands he’d imagined on him, and truly that list was a very short one, yours were the ones he felt he had the worst chance at ever knowing. How _wrong_ he was… and how _glad_ he was for it.

He has long gone without this, not due to any sort of self-restraint nor punishment but simply because the desire to do so had ebbed away as his focus scattered- his maddening need to _save_ you, and the more immediate need to deal with the sin eaters and protect the Crystarium. Now, well, there’s no need to do much of anything… and he can taste you on his lips with a clarity that is _startling._ Ruby eyes slowly open and look down at the journal- still closed, as though all he needs is to have it in his hands for its secrets to be made known to him once more. He can’t help it, he can’t _help_ it, even here in the Umbilicus he can catch your scent, and now he fears he will simply burn to ash with how badly he needs you… whether from shame or longing, however, he can’t say.

What fortuitous timing, therefore, to hear your voice in the Ocular calling out to him- you are curious, wondering if he’s here, and he had _not_ expected you back from the Source yet. The door to the Umbilicus is ajar, of course, he rarely bothered to close it if he was inside unless he absolutely couldn’t be disturbed, and he hears your footsteps behind him in fairly short order. His breath catches on a gasp as he hurriedly puts the journal back and closes the drawer, replaces the ward and drops into his chair- the robes might do little to protect him while standing, but at least while sitting he can arrange them to hide himself.

You peek into the Umbilicus, then smile brightly when you see him. _Gods,_ that smile- you have always made him weak. He wonders if you know.

“Here you are,” you say cheerfully- have you been looking for him, he wonders? Nothing is amiss, obviously, given your mood, and he is thankful for that.

“Here I am,” he replies, letting himself relax- he is amused by your greeting, and he can let the comfortable familiarity with what had been formed between _the Warrior of Darkness_ and _the Crystal Exarch_ override his desperate urge to have you on the floor here and now. He is full glad you can’t hear his heart pounding. “You’ve been looking for me?” he asks curiously, ears perked forward.

“I got back a little while ago,” you say, walking over to him and smiling as you lean against his desk. How lovely you are, he thinks dimly. “I wanted to come back sooner.”

“And how- … you did?” He interrupts himself, surprised, but then smiles again. “You’ve become fond of the First, then?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he is taken straight back to Mor Dhona when he’s done something or said something that you find foolish… and then, ever so briefly, you look _hurt._ It’s a quick flash and gone in an instant as you swiftly regain command of yourself, but he saw it, and he’s half out of his chair and reaching for you before he realizes what he’s done. All he can do now is stand up the rest of the way, and you study him for a second… and then smile again. “I was afraid you’d forgotten,” you murmur.

“I- … n-no,” he says, mouth suddenly gone dry. _You_ clearly hadn’t, either, and he’s not sure why that comes as such a shock. By bringing it up… could it be that you…? He can barely bring himself to ask the question silently, so caught up in your eyes is he.

It only takes a second, but you reach for him, and he pulls you close, holds you as tight as he can as he breathes you in and struggles with the tears that immediately come to his eyes. All the years alone, all the years _apart,_ they all vanish in an instant… at least for the time being, while he can hold you and _feel_ you. “Raha,” you breathe, and everything else goes with it save the sound of his name on your lips- and even _that_ fades away when your lips touch his.

It has been _so long_ since he’s been touched.

Your hands are warm on his back, even through the layers of fabric. He feels the tip of your tongue brush his lips and he parts them with a faint, eager sound that seems to drive you further forward. It’s been _so long_ and yet suddenly it feels like it was just yesterday that he’d had you in his tent, had loved you beneath heavy, soft blankets, had felt your hands and your mouth and-

He can barely _think._

The kiss breaks, and you laugh quietly, teeth gently catching his lower lip and bearing down _ever_ so slightly. He trembles, and you hold him tighter. “I want to feel your tail around my leg,” you breathe into his ear- which flicks and quivers at both your breath and your voice. “How have you been able to stand keeping it trapped for so long?”

He laughs, then- a helpless sound, as though he can’t really believe it either- that, and many other things. “It’s not been easy,” he admits. Hiding his tail, his ears, his _face…_ his name, who he is at the very core of himself- none of it has been easy.

You slide your hands down his back, pat gently at the base of his tail. “It’s still there, isn’t it?” you tease- but you sound _just_ worried enough that he is quick to reassure you.

“It is,” he says, smiling at you- and then you draw back just enough to grin at him, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “O-oh… you, ah…?”

“It’s not that hard to believe, is it? I’ve missed you.” You kiss him again, and his heart feels as though it’s sprouted wings- you missed him.

Maybe you missed him as much as he’s missed you.

He glances toward the door of the Umbilicus, then looks at you with a grin of his own. He is perhaps not _stoic_ as the Crystal Exarch, but certainly not mischievous as G’raha Tia was… but when you look at him like this, the young historian shoves his way entirely out of the back of his mind and takes center stage. “Do you want to see it, then?” he asks playfully- even though his cheeks burn to hear himself say such a thing.

You look surprised, but then you grin ear to ear and nod. “I do,” you say, tightening your grip on him. “I want to see more than just that.” You are about to kiss him again, and _gods_ but does he want you to, when you pause and look at him worriedly. “Are you- have you… your wounds, I mean-?”

“Ah?” His ears flick, and then he smiles and nods. “I’m fine,” he says reassuringly- even if he weren’t, he’d say he was just so you’d keep touching him… anywhere, everywhere, it doesn’t _matter._

“Oh, good,” you mumble against his mouth, and he melts against you as you carefully lick into his mouth. He wonders absently if he tastes the same… you do, it seems.

He has the presence of mind to wave his right hand absently at the door, causing it to swing shut- and _lock,_ knowing you and your utter delight in having him where anyone could potentially wander by and see. Your hands are roaming over his chest and shoulders, seeking clasps and ties and whatever else they might be able to find- but he laughs quietly, reaches up to take your hands and then settles them at his waist. The thin golden belt he wears isn’t _quite_ the same, but you grin at him as his ears wiggle. It falls away easily, and then you slowly crouch down, drawing your hands down his legs to grasp the hem of his robes… though you don’t pull it up, not immediately. You pause, and he blushes bright red as you rest your head against his hip. Surely you won’t, he thinks, and then you nuzzle him and he lets his breath out in a rush as though he’d been struck in the stomach.

He’s going to embarrass himself, he just _knows_ it.

You give him a look from beneath long lashes that drags a soft, barely-audible whine from his throat, and he trembles as you slowly stand, bringing the hem of his robes with you. You watch his face for any sign of discomfort, and finding only _want,_ you swiftly lift them over his head and toss them aside. He only wears his knee-length trousers now, and his breath catches as you reach down and trace your fingertips against the bulge in the front of them. You do look at the crystal, sort of; it is very obvious that while you’re curious about it, you’re nowhere near as interested in that as you are the rest of him. There’s a _rush_ in that, and he lifts shaking hands to the back of your head as you tease a stiffened nipple with the tip of your tongue. His back arches, and you slide one hand down it to stroke the base of his tail- and then down the length of it as you laugh, because it curls around your waist almost instinctively. You know that his body craves yours, and there’s power in that- both ways, he thinks distantly.

Pleasure builds slow and molten deep within him, sluggish in waking after all these years, but no less persistent for that fact. His lips part on another soft sound as you rise, touch your own to his throat and cause him to tip his head back. You are not shy as you taste him, exploring eagerly and pausing to seek the spots he’d liked the best- ah, but the crystal has hidden the Archon tattoos on his neck. You grumble a little, and he smiles as he lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head. That doesn’t _stop_ you, of course; you may not remember exactly what they looked like in the moment, but you still trail your tongue over where they were. He shivers and gasps faintly, his hands clutching at your jacket- then he pulls back just a little to kiss you, to taste your lips and to feel your breath.

You are overdressed.

He had hoped, that night on top of the Tower, that he wouldn’t make an idiot of himself trying to figure your armor out, but luckily it had been easy enough, even from behind. This time, thankfully, is no different- you are as beautiful in it as what you wore then, and it is easy to slip from your shoulders and shove to the floor. You smile at him as he bares you, and that smile turns to a grin when his hands hesitate at your waistband. Whether it’s the grin that urges him on or the fire burning hotter each second, he moves his hand lower to press against you, and you gasp faintly as your hips twitch. Maybe at this point it’s inevitable, but he finds himself pushed back to his desk in short order as you kiss him fiercely and unlace his trousers, as his hands fumble to do the same to you. Your hands on him are nothing short of incredible, and you seem to feel the same about his as you moan into his mouth and press closer yet. His tail coils around your leg, and you grin against his mouth as you reach down to stroke his fur.

Gently, carefully, you pull his tail back. Taking _great_ care not to bend it the wrong way, you lift it to hold against your chest, smile warmly at him as the tip flicks against your neck. He gazes at you adoringly, and the color that comes to your cheeks pleases him greatly. “As ever, my tail seems to be your favorite part of me,” he teases- it’s amazing he can string any coherent thoughts together at all, worked up as he is, but the way you light up makes it more than worth the effort.

“It’s just so _soft,_” you say, if by way of justifying his observation- but you are grinning again, and you lift a hand to lightly brush your fingers against one of his ears. “… I wouldn’t say it’s my _favorite,_ though.”

He sighs happily and tips his head into your touch, which encourages you to stroke your fingers along his ear and then gently smooth it back, and then the other as well. It feels so good, _so_ good, and you laugh as he melts against you again. He can’t _help_ it, it just feels _so_ incredible- it’s all he can think of, in the moment. Your free hand slips away, however, returning to stroke his tail, red fur fading into white at the tip and tapping contentedly against your collarbone. Those stroking fingers close around it gently, then, and trail it slowly down your torso- down further, _further,_ until he is staring at you wide-eyed with his ears perked in shock. Shock quickly turns to pleasure, however, and he blushes as his ears fall back. You gently trail the very tip of his tail over you, and it makes you tremble, sensitive as you are. He quickly follows it with his hands, but you nip at his lips and bat them away with a grin that he can only describe as _sultry._

“Ah, no,” you breathe against his mouth. “Not yet.” You pause briefly, though, and peer at him. “… is this all right?”

He blinks. “M-more than,” he manages to stammer, and he watches you, utterly mesmerized, as you do things with his tail that he’d _never_ considered.

… well, _never_ isn’t really fair. Maybe it would be better to say that he hadn’t in a long time, since the last time he’d spent with you and you’d teased _him_ with it.

Ah, how he _aches_ for you.

He tells you so, kissing your neck and nibbling at your pulse, whispers against it how much he needs you- and whether it’s the years you’ve spent apart or because it’s possible you feel the same way about him that he does about you, you let your breath out and let go of his tail, leaving him to wind it gently around your leg again- damp, now, in a way that makes him _blush_\- as you draw his hands to where it had been. He touches you, _strokes_ you, and he smiles even as he feels hot all over when you moan and wrap your arms around him, shivering all over. It seems almost an afterthought when you lift your hands to his ears, but so long as you’re doing it he doesn’t really care- he can’t help it, can’t begin to control his voice now, not when he finally has you after _so_ long. Half-formed sentences and whimpers spill from his lips as they do from yours, and one hand drops between you to properly grip him, making his hips buck forward into your hand. It’s been so long, it’s been so _long-!_

It’s probably a good thing that you have the presence of mind to ease him down onto the makeshift bed your clothing has made for the two of you, seeing as how his knees threaten to give out with each stroke of your hand. You lay him on his back and give him a knowing look, and then your mouth is on him and his blood is rushing in his ears, he wants this to last, to _last,_ but his toes curl as he sucks in a breath and pulls his knees up. It’s not _going_ to last, and he’s _so_ sorry for that because truly, he’s never felt much anything better than being in your arms- he is panting, clutching at your shoulders, tangling one hand in your hair. His tail thumps on the fabric next to his leg once, then twice, before his fur fluffs out and he lets out a broken yell of your name.

Well… holding back never _was_ what he was good at.

Luckily for you, however, he is far from a selfish lover- indeed, as soon as he’s regained his scattered wits, he’s pulling you down and kissing you hard, shivering at the taste of himself in your mouth before pushing you onto _your_ back. You’d always enjoyed this back then, and from the glazed look in your eyes you are well prepared to enjoy it now- your hands immediately fall to his head, pet his ears and tug his braid loose from its tie. His hair is thick, falling in generous waves around his shoulders, and you groan and shudder as it caresses your inner thighs while sets himself with wholehearted dedication to his task. Your hands bury in it, sending pleasant tingles along his scalp as his ears quiver, and his tail traces a mischievous path in the air as he grins to himself and gently nibbles at the slick skin beneath his mouth. You suck in a breath and let it out on a muffled curse, and his grin widens. His memory isn’t quite as faded as he’d thought, apparently.

You hold out much more admirably than he did, but he’s not fussed by it, instead taking his time and humming softly in pleasure as you whimper and tell him how good he is at this, how good he makes you feel- just hearing his name on your lips is enough to spur him onwards. He redoubles his efforts, moves his mouth _just_ so, and your fingers seize as you tell him how close you are, that you can’t hold back. Luckily, he doesn’t want you to- he’s _never_ wanted you to- and he smiles and closes his eyes as you fall to pieces beneath his hands and mouth.

He waits until he is very sure you’re finished before moving back up your body, trailing kisses along the way and smiling as goosebumps dot your skin. You are so beautiful, and he tells you so as he kisses you- you wind your arms around him, pull him flush against you, and just the feeling alone of your heart beating against his makes him shiver from ears to tail. How he loves you, how he _has_ loved you… and he tells you, helpless in the face of the emotions that threaten to drown him. He will, he thinks, and breathe deep all the while.

You catch your breath and look at him in shock, and your eyes fill with tears. He hadn’t expected that, and he is about to say something when you grab him down and kiss him hard… and against his mouth, you tell him that you love him, too.

You _love_ him.

Drowning never felt so much like living, and he is so overwhelmed that his ears pin while he trembles- but you kiss him, and he realizes in a rush that shakes him head to toe that _you love him._

Long had he imagined this moment, in idle fantasy and wishful dreams, finding it in the haze of the morning and the deepest hours of the night, in the way you walk and the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way your eyes shine. From the young historian caught against a pillar in the Source to the worlds-apart Crystal Exarch falling helplessly apart in your hands, that dream has remained constant… in waking, in breaking, in struggle, in _faith._ Unending, unbreaking, enduring through _so_ much.

He looks down at you and smiles tearfully. He says your name, and you say his… his birth name, the name that only those closest to him could use. This is how you know him, how you’ve _always_ known him.

“I love you,” you both say at once- and then, after that, you’re far too busy discovering how that changes things between you in _this_ way to say much else.


End file.
